Mourner's Kaddish
by CoffeeRanger
Summary: Captain America was the cornerstone of their team. He was their rock - their stability when everything else was shaking. He kept them together, helped them work through issues no one else had been able to, simply through his presence. Never had they thought that he was needing the same support. [No slash]
1. Chapter 1

**A/n 1: In this story (and, indeed, likely in any further stories I might publish for this fandom), I am going with the idea that Steve is a practicing Jew. He is not perfect at it, but does his best. He learned to read Hebrew at his local synagogue (I had to learn a little bit for my coming-of-age ceremony in my congregation, and I feel like being able to read at least well enough to get by would have been important to Steve). That ability was increased with the serum. Now, Steve can fluently read and speak modern Hebrew and fluently read Biblical Hebrew. However, he has kept this to himself, and mainly uses it during his devotions and studies.**

 **A/n 2: There is Hebrew in this fic. It is transliterated into English letters to make it easier to read/ignore. I provide English translations in italics, but Steve is not saying them, only the Hebrew.**

 **A/n 3: The prayer Steve is saying at the beginning of the story is the Mourner's Kaddish. In my congregation, this prayer is said communally each Sabbath. Those who are remembering the death of a loved one stand and recite the main portions with one of our Elders, while the rest of the congregation provides support for them. I have always found comfort in that method, and so decided Steve's congregation did the same. There is no "right" way to pray this prayer (that I am aware of), and do not mean for this story to insinuate that this is the only way to recite this prayer.**

 **Towards the end (the Hebrew is in BOLD with translations still in** ** _italics_** **), Steve switches to Psalms 88. I skipped around quite a bit, to find the verses that *really* applied to Steve. However, the entire chapter is absolutely heart-wrenching and I recommend reading it.**

 **A/n 4: I am quite new to the Marvel fandom, and so I** ** _know_** **I will make mistakes when it comes to plot lines here and there. I try to do as much research as I can in and around RL and college. However, this is fanfiction, and I'm having fun. Constructive criticism is appreciated, especially if it helps me fix said plot line mistakes. However, flames will be used to roast the marshmallows and hot dogs my Plot Bunnies enjoy sometimes. :D**

 **A/n 5: I think that's everything (I hope!). :/ If you have any questions/concerns, drop me a note and I will do my best to clear things up.**

 **A MASSIVE THANK YOU, to Tori of Lorien for her help with this story. If it hadn't been for her, this story either would have sat neglected for far too long or would not have been written in the first place. You are the best, my friend!**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own them. Though, Tori and I are contemplating staging a mission to kidnap most of the characters so they can receive love and affection for once.**

 **~~~~ Line Break ~~~~**

"Yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba b'al'ma di v'ra khir'utei."

The words filled the almost empty room. A lone man sat in one of the unused rooms of the Avenger Tower. His hands were clasped in front of him, elbows on his knees. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. The lights in the room were off, but the lights of New York twinkled in through the window. They cast a mix of shadows and glow along the wall at his side, catching the highlights in his blond hair and dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. The man hated it.

 _"May His Great Name grow exalted and sanctified in the world that He created as He willed."_

There should have been a chorus of voices filling the space at the end of the sentence, voices to fill the gaps when his own voice broke. He should have been surrounded by people ready and willing to help him through this time. People who carried the same grief, the same crushing ache, that someone so dear was gone. People who had known and loved the lost man as much as he did.

"V'yam'likh mal'khutei b'chayeikhon uv'yomeikhon uv'chayei d'khol beit yis'ra'eil ba'agala uviz'man kariv."

 _"May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire family of Israel, swiftly and soon."_

He didn't have to think about the words, they flowed too easily from his lips. He wanted to cry, desperately needed the release the tears would offer. But his eyes were dry.

He had lost too many people during his life – even before the War. But during it, it seemed he had said the prayer every night. Used it to ground himself in the here-and-then instead of the list of names belonging to the men he had failed.

"Y'hei sh'mei raba m'varakh l'alam ul'al'mei al'maya."

 _"_ _May His Great Name be blessed forever and ever."_

It had been hard to then. His faith and trust was lost a bit more with each life lost, as the horrors he fought against seemed to grow bigger, the powers that backed them stronger. It was still hard to think about praising and blessing the One who had taken so much from him.

He knew he was bordering on blasphemy. But he could not understand why everyone he loved was dead, and he still alive. He did not understand why he had not died when he drove the plane into the ice. He could not understand his purpose in this world.

He had gone through this same thing when his mother had died. Had felt the same bone-deep ache he was experiencing now. But then, he had had Bucky to draw him out – to pull him back from the abyss he had been staring into.

"Yit'barakh v'yish'tabach v'yit'pa'ar v'yit'romam v'yit'nasei v'yit'hadar v'yit'aleh v'yit'halal sh'mei d'kud'sha B'rikh hu."

 _"Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, might, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One. Blessed is He."_

Now, though, there was no one. Just him. And he didn't know if he could do it. Sure, he put on an act for the country, held it together for the team. He had to. He was Captain America, leader of the Avengers. He could not break. Yet, as each day passed, a new piece inside of him – deep inside, where no one could see – did.

 **"** **Adonai, Elohay, y'shooatee. Yom tza'ak'tee va'lay'la neg'decha. Tavo l'fanecha t'feelatee hatay az'n'cha l'reenatee."**

" _O Lord God of my salvation, what time I cry in the night before you. Let my prayer come before you, incline Your ear unto my cry."_

He didn't realize he had switched prayers until a few words in. The words of the Psalm were fitting. He couldn't remember why he had memorized it or even when. He was glad he had though.

"Cap?"

 **"** **Shatanee b'vor tach'teeyot, b'machashakeem beem'tzolot. Alay samcha chamatecha v'chol-meesh'barecha eeneeta. Selah. Heer'chak'ta m'yooda'eye meemenee shatanee toy ay'vot lamo kaloo v'lo aytzay."**

 _"_ _Thou hast laid me in the nethermost pit, in dark places, in the deeps. Your wrath lies hard on me, and all Your waves You press down. Selah You have put my acquaintance far from me; You have made me an abomination unto them; I am shut up, and I cannot come forth."_

Tears finally came, and he slipped from the chair onto his knees. **"K'rateecha Adonai b'chol-yom. Sheevach'tee aylecha chapa."**

 _"_ _I have called upon You, O Lord, every day. I have spread forth my hands unto You."_

"Steve?"

 **"** **Hay'soopar bakever chas'decha emoonatcha baavadon?"**

 _"_ _Shall Thy mercy be declared in the grave? Or Thy faithfulness in destruction?"_

His soul cried out for an answer. If peace and mercy could only be found in death, why had it been kept from him? What had he done to deserve to be cut off like this? What sin was he still atoning for which required his continued existence, this continuous struggle and fight against the evils of the world.

"Lamah azovata otee?"

" _Why have You left me_?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone! Thank you all for such a warm welcome to this fandom! This next chapter is a little bit different. It's in Clint's POV. I hope it lives up to expectations!**

 **Oh, quick note. Tenses and I have been and probably always will be opposed to each other. I've read through this chapter 3 times trying to find all my mistakes, but I know I've missed some. If there are glaring errors, please feel free to drop me a PM, and I will fix them. :D**

 **Reply to Cloudoffeathers (since I can't reply to you through a PM): Thank you so much for your review! Steve and Tony have become some of my most favorite characters to dig into. There is so much more to them than what we see on the screen. I'm happy that my attempt to dig into one aspect of Steve's character has peaked your interest. Hope you enjoy this next chapter as well. :D**

 **Huge thank you once again to Tori for looking over parts of this chapter for me!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own it. :D**

 **~~~~ Line Break ~~~~**

Clint walked silently through the back hallways of the Avenger tower. The rest of the team was up in the kitchen/living room/dining room/all-around catchall room hanging out. He had originally been with them; however, between Thor's booming voice and Tony's endless chatter, it had got to be a bit much. So, he'd gone to find some quiet.

He took the elevator down to the fourth floor. On one of his late-night excursions after having just moved into the tower, he'd discovered that the best room for viewing the city (and for peace and quiet from the rest of the tower) was to be found there. It was tucked away in a back corner and had looked like no one was using it, so he'd quickly claimed it for himself.

He pushed the door to the room open and breathed a sigh of relief. That was until he noticed the form of a large man sitting in a chair near the window. Clint quickly ran through the list of people hanging out upstairs and cursed when he realized that Steve was missing. Though with how quiet that man was, it wasn't hard to forget he was in the room.

"Cap, is everything alright? Didn't mean to walk in on you like that. Usually this room is empty. Came to get away from the noise upstairs too, huh?"

His brow furrowed when the other man didn't react at all. Clint took a step forward.

"Cap?"

"Yeet'barach v'yeesh'tabach v'yeet'paar v'yeetromam v'yeet'nasay v'yeet'hadar v'yeet'aleh v'yeet'halal sh'may d'kood'sha. B'reech hoo."

His worry increased when he heard the words the other man was whispering. He couldn't understand a word of what Steve was saying. However, it wasn't hard to miss the sorrow in his words.

Clint looked back-and-forth between Steve and the doorway. He need to get help. He wasn't sure what to do to help Steve and was afraid of making it worse. From the sound of his voice, the Captain was teetering on the edge. He knew from experience that it didn't take much to send some people over when they were like this.

"Adonai, Elohay, y'shooatee. Yom tza'ak'tee va'lay'la neg'decha. Tavo l'fanecha t'feelatee hatay az'n'cha l'reenatee."

"Cap?"

Clint took a few steps closer hoping that Steve would notice him, and his presence would bring him back from wherever his brain had taken him. It didn't work though. Steve just seem to descend further and further into himself.

"Shatanee b'vor tach'teeyot, b'machashakeem beem'tzolot. Alay samcha chamatecha v'chol-meesh'barecha eeneeta. Selah. Heer'chak'ta m'yooda'eye meemenee shatanee toy ay'vot lamo kaloo v'lo aytzay."

Clint's eyes widened even further when Steve slipped from the chair and crashed his knees, tears streaming down his face. The younger man buried his face in his knees, bringing his hands up to cover his head.

"Hay'soopar bakever chas'decha emoonatcha baavadon?"

Clint cursed again. He took a few steps back, but stopped near the doorway. There was no way he could leave the kid – for that's what Steve was, if he slowed down long enough to actually think about it and be honest with himself. But he had no idea what to do to help him. Ever since the Chitauri attack had brought them together as a team, they had come to rely on Steve as their cornerstone. He kept them grounded when their differences threatened to pull them apart. He could always be trusted to keep his cool, no matter how long the day or how annoying Tony got. It had never really occurred to Clint that Steve could be dealing with his own problems. Now that oversight was costing him, for he had no way to help their leader when he needed it the most.

"Sir will be here in three minutes."

Clint jumped when Jarvis's voice sounded quietly next to his ear.

"Jarvis, what…"

"I have been programmed to alert Sir when the Captain becomes like this."

Clint's horror grew, "It's happened before? Why hasn't he said something?"

"The Captain has not spoken of his reasons."

Clint turned to look back at Steve. He had not moved from his position kneeling on the ground, though words continued to tumble from his lips. What reason could he have for keeping such pain from them? Did he not trust them?

That thought made him pause. Trust. Had they ever given Steve cause to trust them? They relied on him for so much, and he was always willing to give what assistance he could. But had they made it clear that he could rely on them in the same way? He had always assumed that Steve understood the offer of assistance ran the opposite direction as well. But standing there, seeing him on his knees looking as if he was being crushed by the weight of the world, Clint realized that it had not been as apparent as he had assumed.

He was about to go over to Steve when the door to the room burst open. Clint whirled, hand moving to grip the knife hidden in his waistband. Tony stood in the doorway, puffing slightly. His gaze quickly raked over Clint before settling on the man kneeling at the far end of the room. His face paled.

"How long's he been like this?"

"Not sure." Clint answered, relaxing his stance. "I found him like this about 5 minutes ago. I was about to –" He stopped talking when he realized that Tony had stopped paying attention to him. The other man's attention had moved back to focus solely on Steve.

"J, turn the lights up to 30% and turn the heat up in here. Not too much though." Tony pointed at Clint. "Don't go anywhere, but back off. Steve doesn't take well to others seeing him like this."

Clint backed off as he was told. He slipped into the shadows in a corner of the room where he was just out of eyeshot of the far side of the room, but near enough that he could hear what was going on. Tony, in turn, walked slowly over to Steve.

"Steve?" He called. "Steve, can you hear me?"

Steve still didn't answer, even though there was no way he could _not_ have heard Tony. His hands fisted tighter in his hair.

"Steve, it's Tony. You're in the Tower – in New York. It's 2012."

Tony kept his tone gentle and the volume low. Clint watched as he knelt by the super-soldier, his every move projected before he made it, giving Steve time to register what was happening so that he didn't freak out. Clint knew how damaging and disorienting it could be for someone to suddenly come crowding into your personal space when you were locked inside your head. He was surprised Tony knew that and seemed to know what to do to help Steve.

In fact, the longer he watched Tony, the more surprised he became. After his initial comments, Tony seemed content to simply _be_ there next to Steve. His hand was on the younger man's shoulder, but his body was far enough away that Steve could get away quickly if he needed to. It reminded Clint of the few times Steve had found him in the midst of a flashback/shutdown during the aftermath of Loki's attack a few months prior.

There had been only a few people he trusted well enough at that time to ask for help. One of those people had been Phil. Phil whom they had buried because he hadn't been able to fight the control of the blackguard who had _used_ him. The other was Natasha. And he couldn't – wouldn't – go to her. She hid it, but he knew her well enough to know that she was still hurt deeply by Phil's death. Even though she told him that she didn't blame him, he knew his presence brought up bad feelings and refused to force them and his mess on to her.

And so, he had suffered alone. Keeping himself awake until the early hours of the morning in hopes of keeping the nightmares and memories at bay, staying up in the rafters and vents of the Stark Tower, where he couldn't hurt anyone. Sometimes he'd sneak into the communal living room/dining room/kitchen area of the Tower to catch what shut-eye he could on the couch or to make himself yet another mega-mug of coffee. Those times had been rare.

It had been on one of those rare occasions that Steve found him. He'd been jerked awake to the memories of attacking his fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. members, to the feel of his bow in his hands, the sound of Loki's laughter in his mind. He'd been doing good for a few days, so the suddenness of the assault had startled him, and he'd been unable to shake it off as he usually was. As a result, Steve had found him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, trying desperately to drive the psychopath's face from his mind.

Steve hadn't tried to console him, hadn't offered vague, empty promises about how it _would get better_ with time. He had simply gone into the kitchen, made two cups of hot chocolate, and then sat nearby as Clint pulled himself together enough to sip at his. And so it continued each time he found himself unable to sleep. No matter where he was, Steve would show up, two cups of hot chocolate in hand, and understanding in his eyes. Clint had always assumed that Jarvis woke the Captain up – something he had been grateful for though he rarely said it. Now, he wondered if Steve hadn't been up at those off hours because he was fighting demons of his own.

Clint clenched his jaw as he turned his attention back to Tony and Steve. All those times, Steve had been able to help him, to drag him back from the dark depths of his mind. But now, when he needed the same assistance, when he needed someone to come alongside him and give him a helping hand, what had he been able to do? Squat.

The sound of Steve taking a deep shuddering breath drew Clint out of his memories. The tension in Tony's shoulders melted away with that small action. He turned back to Clint.

"Will you go get a glass of water and a box of tissues?"

Clint nodded, "He going to be all right?"

"Not immediately, but he's coming out of it. Hurry up."

Clint nodded, "I'll be right back."

He rushed out of the room and up to his floor's kitchen. Grabbing the largest cup he owned, he filled it at the tap. Snagging the box of tissues from off the coffee table in his living room, he started back.

He could only hope that Tony had been able to pull Steve back from wherever his mind had sent him. That Tony had been able to gain his attention, so that they'd – so that he'd – have an opportunity to help his friend the same way Steve had helped him.

He had lost too much during his lifetime. Lost too much in the last few months. There was no way short of him dying that he was going to allow someone he was beginning to count as a friend slip when he could have done something.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Hello everyone! I am SOOO sorry for how late this update is. I fully intended to get this up much sooner, but then… November struck. I've only just recently gotten time to sit down and actually write something none school related. I am officially off school for winter break tomorrow, though, so the next (and last!) chapter will NOT take as long to get up. I promise. Thank you all who have read/favorited/followed/left reviews! Each and every one brings a smile to my face.**

 **Cloudoffeathers: Thank you so much for your kind words and for taking time to write them out! I had such a huge smile when I read your words. It means so much to me to know others enjoy my work as much as I enjoy writing it. I am not a published author yet, but I hope to be one day, L0rd willing. :D If you don't mind me asking, what's the story behind your username? It's so interesting!**

 **Deckerla: Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, nor will it ever be unless I suddenly become a multi-billionaire.**

 **~~~~ Line Break ~~~~**

"Sir, you are needed downstairs."

Jarvis's calm collected tones greeted Tony as he walked over to the bar for a refill. He and the rest of the Avengers had been enjoying "team building time" (Capsicle's words, not his. He would have named it "cruel and unusual punishment.") that evening. They hadn't been doing anything other than discussing past assignments, though Cap managed to turn the conversation to more personal questions every now and then. Nothing too deep; more surface items that would allow them to know a bit more about each other without touching on anything they weren't willing to share, but he still felt more comfortable with something in his hands. He would have forgone the Kumbaya-get-together entirely had Pepper and Jarvis not locked him out of the workshop.

"What's wrong, J? Dum-E didn't knock over one of Bruce's experiments again, did he? That last one was nasty to clean up."

"No, Sir. Dum-E has not approached Dr. Banner's experiments. I believe your threat to turn him into spare parts has been an ample deterrent. This time, it is Captain Rodgers and Mr. Barton who require your assistance."

Tony frowned and threw a glance around the room. Their resident Ice Cap and Tweety Bird were strangely absent.

"What happened, Jarvis? Did Barton finally get stuck in the vents? I warned him that that would happen if –"

"Mr. Barton is not stuck in the ventilation system. Captain Rodgers is having one of his attacks, and Mr. Barton has found him."

Any amusement Tony felt at the prospect of Clint being stuck flew out of his head at those words.

"I'll be right down." He told Jarvis, setting his cup down and striding towards the elevator. Once inside, he looked towards the ceiling.

"Talk to me, buddy. What's going on? Where are they? When did Steve leave?"

"The Captain left the gathering 45 minutes ago. He appeared agitated, but his vitals were not raised. He was also not agitated enough to initiate Protocol Star Spangled Panic. Mr. Barton entered the room the Captain is occupying 5 minutes ago. At that time, the Captain's vitals increased beyond the ranges established in Protocol Panic. I delayed contacting you because of Mr. Barton's presence in hopes that he would be able to offer assistance. However, the Captain remained unresponsive to Mr. Barton's overtures. His vitals also continued increasing, though they have leveled off as of now. He appears to be experiencing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Tony cursed. If Jarvis's prognosis was correct, and it usually was, Steve had been having a rough few days. Despite that, he had still been actively involved in their activities – including a few small missions – and had even insisted on the gathering that evening.

"You self-sacrificing snipe. When will you learn?" He knew that it was basically useless to think that their esteemed captain would change. He had been relying on himself for too long – had it drilled into that he had only himself to rely on, that he had to be the perfect _Man with a Plan_ at all times.

The elevator stopped and the door opened.

"All right, J. Where are they?"

"The southeast meeting room. I recommend hurrying, Sir. Mr. Barton is becoming uncomfortable, and the Captain is becoming worse."

Tony didn't need the encouragement. As soon as he had heard where his teammates were, he had taken off.

He burst into the room, panting slightly from the run. The first thing he noticed was the dark. The room was lit solely by the city lights coming in through the window. The cold was also permeating. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he noticed Clint standing by the door. The assassin was moving his hand away from his belt, and Tony knew he should be grateful he wasn't skewered to the wall. However, when he saw Steve, all other thoughts disappeared.

Their leader was on the ground beneath the window, head all but touching the ground. Tony felt the blood drain from his face.

"How long's he been like this?"

Steve didn't react, even though Tony's voice was quite loud. Tony's worry increased even more. Steve was the most aware out of all of them – even the Sneak Twins. He knew that hypervigilance wasn't a good thing – that it was a side-effect of the battles Steve had just been in (at least to him) and the PTSD he was sure Steve was dealing with. So for him not to react at all? Bad.

"Not sure." Clint answered. "I found him 5 minutes ago. I was about to –"

Tony tuned him out, focusing solely on Steve. "J, turn the lights up to 30% and turn the heat up in here. Not too much though." He pointed at Clint. "Don't go anywhere, but back off. Steve doesn't take well to others seeing him like this."

He had learned that the hard way. After the first time he had found Steve in the middle of an attack, Steve had been embarrassed. He had apologized for inconveniencing him and then had bid a hasty exit. Tony hadn't seen him for almost a day after that.

It had taken Tony helping him through two more episodes before Steve had finally stopped pushing him away. He stilled refused to seek help though, preferring to lock himself away if things got to be too much. It was for that reason that Tony had programmed Jarvis to track Steve's actions and vitals. If there was one thing he had learned from Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy helping him through his own difficulties, it was that it was better to have someone around to help.

He started walking slowly over to Steve, "Steve? Steve, can you hear me?"

There was still no response from him.

"Steve, it's Tony." Another two steps closer. "You're in the Tower – in New York. It's 2012."

He made it to Steve's side and knelt down, keeping his tone gentle and the volume low. If Steve was having a flashback, shouting or even talking loudly was the _last_ thing Tony wanted to be doing. He also ensured his movements were slow so that Steve could register them before they happened.

Once he was kneeling on the ground next to his teammate, he reached up and placed his hand on Steve's shoulder. As he did so, he felt the heating system kick in and a waft of warm air surround them. It began to banish the chill that had been present since before he arrived.

Tony stayed next to Steve as the entire room began to heat up, providing a point of reference for the man. He made sure to keep enough room between the two of them, though, so that Steve could move if he wanted or needed to. Steve didn't appreciate people close by him – though he usually hid that aversion. Tony sighed, thinking of all that Steve hid behind his cheerful exterior.

After finding out that Steve suffered flashbacks and anxiety attacks, Tony had had Jarvis hack into SHIELD's files on him. The "secret" ones, not the ones all of them had been given before they started working together. What he had found horrified him.

There were the typical missions: rescues of small towns in France, forward marches in Germany with the rest of the vanguard, and so on. There were even a few instances of Captain America and the Howling Commandoes liberating POW camps and labor camps. Those were few and very interspersed, however. The main missions were attacks on Hydra bases and headquarters around Europe. The horrifying part came from the Howling Commandoes themselves. Stories half hidden in reports and letters – or simply placed into the file later, probably by Peggy, as more facts came to light from her interactions with the Commandoes.

There were stories – not many, but enough – of captivities. Of botched attempts against Hydra, of faulty intel or just plain bad luck. Two common threads ran through each story though: Hydra's cruelty and Steve's dedication. The Hydra operatives they ran afoul of knew they couldn't defeat Steve, so they targeted the only thing they knew would stop him – his men. Story after story explained how Steve would give himself up for his men. Would put down his shield and allow himself to be bound in order to keep them safe. They spoke of days they all spent in sordid conditions with too little food. How Steve would always go without food so that there was just that little bit more to share around, even though each time they were captured Hydra would torture him ruthlessly in an effort to get information.

Reading those files had helped him understand Steve a little bit better. They had increased his tolerance of Steve's personality (not much, but a bit). The biggest change, however, had been the change in his expectations of who Steve should be and how he should act.

He had grown up on tales of Steve Rogers. His Aunt Peggy had told him tales of Captain America's exploits – of his heroism and bravery. Of his steadfast devotion to their country and the men who served around him and under him. She also told stories of his defiance – of pulled rank, arguments with commanding officers, disobeyed orders, and forced rests for his men when they needed them, but still tried to push through. His favorite stories, though, had been of just plain Steve Rogers. Of the fun he and Peggy and his dad and the Howling Commandoes had had in their rare moments of down time. Such as the prank wars between Steve and Bucky Barnes to keep morale high. His all-time favorite though, had to be the story Peggy had told him of the time she had creamed his dad and the rest of the Commandoes at a one-armed push-up contest. She told him that Steve (who had been made the judge because of his "unfair advantage") had been the only one to believe that she could do it [1].

When Tony had heard that Captain America had been found, he had expected the person from his aunt's stories. And so he had been solely disappointed when the person he was faced with did not match the person from those stories. Steve had been, not cold, but aloof, during their first mission. There had been none of the Steve Rogers he felt like he knew because of his childhood stories. The man he had been forced to team up with had been all calculating military captain, except for that small moment aboard the helicarrier. Now, however, through getting to know Steve – or getting to know him as well as he could with both of them rather hesitant to truly _dig –_ and through reading Steve's files, he realized why that difference had been there.

Peggy – and Howard too in rare moments of blatant affection [2] – had given him the best of Steve, the parts that any child would magnify and look to for inspiration throughout life. They had remembered their friend by passing his memory on to him. And while they had never hidden Steve's faults – Peggy had shared quite a few stories of the trouble Steve caused her and the rest of SSR through his thickheadedness – they had kept the worst from him. The part that he was just now beginning to see and realize. The part that divided _Steve Rogers_ from _Captain America_. The part that was still a 23-year-old [3] thrust into a leadership position he was not trained for simply because he could bench-press a tank and had rescued over 600 men in order to save his best friend. It was that part he had not been aware had existed and which had led to Steve thinking he had to hide his difficulties behind a façade; to act like everything was all right in order to be the leader he thought they wanted and needed.

It was that façade that had annoyed him at first – because it didn't match with the Steve that he had grown up with. Then he had discovered Steve sitting alone in the living room at 2 in the morning, sweat dripping down his face and breathing ragged as he tried to ground himself in a world he still felt ungrounded in. It was at that time that he saw glimpses of _Steve_ not Captain America. It was then that he realized the person who had been living in the Tower with them and interacting with them was not the true Steve Rogers, but a persona Steve slipped into.

If he thought about it, there wasn't much difference between him and Steve. Their masks were different sure, but they had both been forced to create and wear them by others. Steve was expected to _be_ America's Golden Boy – the Man with the Plan who always knew the right thing to do and did it. He himself had grown up with people thinking he was the "rich, spoiled kid" who became the "rich, spoiled man" who could buy his way out of anything and used people and then tossed them aside when he was done.

Both he and Steve presented those masks to outsiders, to protect themselves who would seek to exploit and hurt them. He had had Pepper and Happy and Rhodey to draw him out, to remind him that that mask was not who he truly was when he was in danger of losing himself in it. Steve didn't have anyone to do that anymore; they had been taken from him when he drove into the ice.

Now that Tony knew, however, he was determined to do all he could to help. He wanted the chance to get to know Steve for himself, not just through the stories from his childhood. He wanted to give something back to the man who had given him so much without even knowing it.

Beneath his hand, he felt Steve take a deep, shuddering breath. The tension in his own shoulders eased at the motion. It was the first sign that Steve was coming back. He turned to face Clint who had parked himself out of eyeshot in the far corner of the room.

"Will you go get a glass of water and a box of tissues?"

Clint nodded, "He going to be all right?"

"Not immediately, but he's coming out of it. Hurry up."

As Clint rushed out of the room, Tony turned his attention back to Steve.

~~~~ Line Break ~~~~

1: This comes from the show "Agent Carter." I have not actually seen the series yet, but I found the snippet that relates to this on Pinterest. If you wish to read it simply google "Peggy Pushups Howling Commandoes" and it'll be the first entry in "images."

2: I am of the mindset that Howard was NOT abusive in any way towards Tony. I'm studying psychology and Tony's characteristics and mannerisms simply do not match up with those of someone who grew up abused either physically or verbally. However, having said that, I do believe that Howard was distant towards Tony, that he was usually not very expressive of the love he had for his son. At least not in a way that Tony, as a child, would see and understand.

3: I'm not sure if this is the correct age that Steve was when he took command of the Howling Commandoes. In my research, there was some conflict as to the year Steve was born. Some sites said 1918, others said 1920 or around there. I went with the date and age that is in the Captain America article on the MCU wiki.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for all of your support for this story. Each time I see that it has gotten a favorite, follow, or comment, my heart is filled with joy. We have reached the end of this tale, but the story is far from over. The Plot Bunnies (through the invaluable help of some of their cousins) have gotten ideas for a sequel.**

 **A MASSIVE "thank you" to Tori of Lorien. Your assistance with each chapter has been invaluable. :D**

 ** _Cloudoffeathers:_** **Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I must admit, now I too am wondering what a cloud of feathers would be like. *Obi-wan chin stroke* I bet it would be super soft, though my Plot Bunnies are also now wondering if it would also be wet because of the whole "cloud" aspect.**

 **Disclaimer: *Looks over at Plot Bunnies who shake their heads sadly* Dagnabit, I still don't own it.**

 **~~~~ Line Break ~~~~**

Flashbacks, fear, and worry were no strangers to Steve. Concern about food, about money, and about his mother's health had been his companions from his youth. Anger over his invalid state did nothing to help those worries. Indeed, at times, they exacerbated them, for if he had been well, he would have been able to work to help provide for his family as Bucky did with his.

Project Rebirth did nothing to help either. He was physically capable of so much more than he had been in his prior 22 years of life. But he was stuck as a showpiece – fake punching a man in a costume – while Bucky and the rest of the troops were out in harm's way actually defending the nation. And so, the worry continued, though he hid it well. What would moral be if it was known that _The Man with a Plan_ worried about the plans of those in charge?

He knew how to "fake it till you make it." And when that wasn't enough, he'd slip away for an hour or two of quiet. There he could rearrange those thoughts into more manageable chunks and then lock them back up in the recesses of his mind where they belonged.

The serum he had been injected with had given him many blessing. The ability to breathe deeply and without pain was the greatest in his opinion. And once he was actually engaging in combat, his strength, stamina, healing abilities, and the myriad of other enhancements came in great use. Those abilities did have their drawbacks though.

The pain, un-relievable by pain medication, that accompanied any wounds he received he could handle. No, he didn't _relish_ the agony he was in while his body healed itself; but there was nothing to be done about it, so he grit his teeth and bore it. What he did wish he could change, at times, was the sparkling clarity and accuracy of his memory. While it was a blessing in many areas of his life – training, battle tactics, plans, maps, recon – it was also a bane.

He remembered each face of the men he had failed. Each name was seared into the depths of his mind. The botched missions, failed attempts, captures, and tortures, the faces of his men twisted and pinched with hunger, but still filled with determination to get the job done all had their place. He couldn't forget anything, and so his brain had a virtual smorgasbord of situations and events to choose from to torment him with.

So, no. He wasn't a stranger to flashbacks and what was now called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He had dealt with them during the war, as quietly as possible, but _always_ privately. _Captain American_ always had a plan, always knew what to do, was always perfect. _Captain Rogers_ was an officer in the United States Army: any problems or difficulties were dealt with by him and him alone. He couldn't place anymore weight on the shoulders of his men. There was no place for _Steve Rogers_ , the 23-year-old kid from Brooklyn, to vent and release the stress that being genetically enhanced and then thrown into a position of command had placed on him.

He had had quite a few flashbacks since his… since coming out of the ice. He had tried to keep them quiet so as not to disturb the rest of the occupants of the Tower. Thankfully, most had happened in his room after particularly nasty nightmares. Mainly, what he dealt with now was crushing depression.

He was a Man Out of Time. All those he had known were either dead or heading towards the grave, scattered across the US and the world. His old haunts and his neighborhood were changed, but not enough that he did not see glimmerings of them whenever he would pass by. Remnants of his time still clung on amidst the advancements of the 21st century.

It was those remnants, those ghosts, that caused him the most pain.

He would be doing… not fine, but all right. Integrating himself a little bit more into this world he found himself in. Trying to be leader to the Avengers, keep them from strangling each other, bring them closer together and more like a team instead of a group of individuals who were forced to work with each other. He kept himself busy, either with Avenger wrangling (if he was honest with himself it wasn't that much different from some of the troops he had had to lead during the war) or with assignment for SHIELD. And then he'd be blindsided by a reminder that he wasn't where he belonged, that he might never belong here, and the grief and confusion and questions would come flooding back.

That was what had happened that evening. He had called the get-together hoping that his teammates would open up to each other a bit more and find things in common. They still preferred to go it solo and spent more time arguing or just ignoring each other than not. It wasn't good for the team, nor was it good for country should another attack happen and they not know how to flow with and around each other because they refused to know each other.

And, for the most part, they actually did try when they had gathered for the evening meal. Of course, Tony spent more time than not with a glass of something in his hand. But Steve noticed that he didn't guzzle it down. Instead, the man used it as a grounding tool more than anything. Clint and Natasha had orbited around each other as usual, but allowed others into their mix. Bruce had been more than content to sit in a corner reading over a scientific journal, but put it to the side when Tony had engaged him in a conversation about some experiment they were conducting. Thor had wandered from group to group.

He had been doing fine, but about halfway through, he had been struck with an intense wave of _want_ and _loss_. He and the Commandos had done similar gatherings a number of times between missions. It had been time for them to simply be themselves. To not worry about the war or where they were going next or that they might be blown up or captured at any time. It had been _good_ and _right_ and some of the best times he had ever had.

He left then, not wanting to disrupt the good time the rest of his team was having. He thought he'd be fine, he'd deal with his emotions and come back just in time for the goodbyes. Except that hadn't happened. He'd been stuck as wave after wave of just what he'd lost hit him. He knew sorrow was an integral part of grieving – heaven knows he'd had enough knowledge of it – but it had been months since his return. He was beginning to be ashamed that he was still stuck.

The past, though, finally seemed to have relinquished its hold on him for the time being. He wasn't sure how long he had been kneeling on the floor, locked in his own grief. What he did know was that he couldn't stay there for much longer, as much as he'd like to. He needed to check in on his teammates and ensure that there was nothing pressing from SHIELD. There wasn't time for _Steve Rogers_ this evening. He had to be _Captain America._ Once he completed his duties, he could retreat to his room and sleep for the few hours he could before the nightmares kicked in.

A hand squeezed his shoulder softly. The suddenness of the gesture surprised Steve, and he jerked up and away. His hands balled into fists, and his muscles tightened in preparation to fend off whoever it was who had snuck up on him.

"Whoa there, Capsicle. Hold your horses. It's just me."

The voice – and the teasing name that had followed him since he had met the owner of said voice – broke through the last remnants of fog in his mind. _Tony._ He had almost hit Tony… again.

The fight or flight reflex faded. His brain began to fully process the scene around him. Tony knelt an arm's length away from him, though his hand was still on his shoulder. His eyes were filled with concern, but no pity.

The muscles in his arms, back, and neck relaxed, and he settled so his back was supported by the wall. With a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and trying to reign in his still tumultuous emotions.

 _Great_. Now he had ruined Tony's evening as well. This was _not_ going well. Tony never acted put out by his… episodes. In fact, he always seemed to find Steve during them, no matter where he was. But the not-quite-a-soldier-anymore couldn't imagine that the billionaire liked having a super soldier with mental issues disturbing his life. After a few minutes of silence, Steve lowered his hand and took a deep breath.

"You back with me, Steve?" Tony asked softly. He hadn't moved at all, and his gaze still held no pity – simply an open desire to help.

"Yes." Steve rasped. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I apologize for disrupting your evening. I will be all right now. You can go and rejoin the group. I will be there momentarily."

He moved to stand up, to put this mess behind him, to put _Steve Rogers_ aside and put on _Captain Rogers_. He knew he was no longer in the army, but the expectations of the nation and those around him, and his commanding officers still hung heavily on his shoulders. He had never allowed anyone to see his few breakdowns during the War. Bucky had been the only to force himself and his help onto Steve, and even he hadn't been there for all of them.

Tony pushed him back down, a frown on his face.

"Don't give me any of that crap. You wouldn't have left the shindig unless something was wrong. You know no one will begrudge you time to set things right, or judge you for it. For Pete's sake, Steve," He waved his hands, "we _all_ have times where we just need to be by ourselves. Why can't you allow yourself the same leeway?"

Steve straightened, frowning slightly at Tony, "I am the leader of this group and an active member of SHIELD. I cannot allow myself to slip, to fail to be anything but prepared for whatever needs done. I am _fine_ , Tony. I was fine during the War, and I will be fine now. Thank you for your concern, but please, go back to enjoying your evening. We have training in the morning. I will see you there."

He tried once more to move from his position on the floor. Yet once again, he was stopped by Tony's hand on his chest. He took a deep breath, but allowed himself to be pressed back to the floor once more.

"That's a load of malarkey." Tony snarled. "I don't know who's been filling your head with that nonsense, but it's not true. You're human, Steve, with human fallibilities. No one expects you to be perfect, least of all anyone in this Tower. Well… Coulson might whenever he comes over, but he only stops in to visit, so he doesn't count."

Tony stood up and began pacing. Before he could continue his harangue, though, the door to the room slid open. He and Steve both looked up to see Clint returning with the box of tissues and glass of water Tony had sent him for.

"Clint! Good, we can get another opinion. Not that we need one, I'm right, but I don't think Steve will be too interested in just taking my word. That's beside the point. Do you think that Cap has to be infallible and 100% perfect all the time?"

To his credit, Clint only looked between Tony and Steve – who had tensed even further at his entrance – once before shaking his head, "Of course not. No one can ever be perfect – not even you, Tony."

Tony ignored the barb in favor of turning back to Steve, "See? Whatever that was you just spouted should be reclassified as nonsense." His posture eased slightly. "I don't know what it was like during the War, Steve. But times have changed."

Clint held the glass of water and the tissues out to Steve who took them gratefully. "He's right, you know. None of us are perfect. In fact, we're the farthest thing from it. Why should our leader be perfect?"

Tony pulled one of the officer chairs out from beneath the table and plopped into it, "We're here to help you just as much as you're here to help us, Steve. How many times have you talked to me about teamwork and trust and leaning on one another? Sounds like you need a taste of your own advice."

Steve gave a half-grin before blowing his nose and downing the water. The stiffness in his body had eased as Clint and Tony had talked, but it had not disappeared entirely.

"Thank you, Clint, Tony. I will take that into consideration." He stood up and moved to the door. This time Tony didn't try to stop him.

"What were you saying?" Clint asked right before he reached the door.

Steve flinched as if struck, "What do you mean?" He asked in an even voice without turning around.

"When I came in here the first time, you were muttering something in what sounded like Hebrew? Was it?"

Steve's stomach clenched tightly, "It was." He acknowledged in a voice that begged the other man to drop the subject. "It was a prayer."

"What for, Steve?" Clint pressed.

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Tony noticed that his shoulders had tensed even further.

"Steve?" Clint asked once more.

"For the dead." Steve whispered. "It was a prayer for the dead, Barton. Please, let it be. I will see you both in the morning for training."

"You aren't the only person to lose those you care about, Steve." Clint's voice was equally soft. "We all understand. We're here, if you want a listening ear."

Steve didn't turn around, but he nodded. "Thank you, Clint. See you tomorrow."

Tony sighed to himself as the door closed behind Steve. It wasn't exactly what he had been hoping for. He and Steve had been making headway, and they seemed to have taken five steps back.

 _What will it take for you to trust us?_


End file.
